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RUGGED 
RHYMES 




RUGGED * * 
» * RHYMES 

IVILLIAM SIDNEY HILLY ER 



If 



NEW YORK 

THOMSON & COMPANY 

MDCCCCV 



i I wo iJopies HecsiVB-J 

JUN ly ^90^ 






COPYRIGHT 1905 

BY 

WILLIAM SIDNEY HILLYER 
NEW YORK 



tAll Rights Reserved 



PRKSS. OK ' 

THOMSON &^p<iMPA^I« 
NEW ^ORK 



S 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Proem 9 

When My Pipe Goes Out 1 1 

Memory 13 

The Patter of Baby's Footsteps 14 

The Story of the Willow Plate 16 

When the Prompter Rings the Bell 21 

Keats 23 

Baby Steps 24 

Watching the Rain 26 

If I Had Known 27 

A Creed 29 

Gone 29 

The Sources of Song 31 

Fame 31 

Good Night 32 

Now That You Are Gone 32 

The Poet's Grave 34 

When I Watch the Children Play 35 

When Evening Comes 2>7 

The Poet's Bliss 38 

Love's Cry of Anguish 39 

Chatterton 40 

The Cool October Days 41 

When Daylight Steals Away 42 

Snowdrift 43 

At Sunset 44 

Viola — A Memory 45 

When We Were Young 46 

Fate 47 

The Tales That Father Used to Tell 48 

The Songs That Mother Sang 51 

My Lamp 53 



PAGE 

A Scandal 54 

Bohemia 54 

The Rock-a-Bye Ship 57 

Spirit of Night 58 

The Winter Moon 59 

A Review of Love 60 

A Boy Az Iz a Boy 63 

The Queen 65 

The Embers' Glow 66 

Contentment's Creed 68 

My Cigar 70 

The Poet's Awakening 71 

The World's Song ^2 

Harvest Days 72 

Shadows on the Wall 74 

The Dead Day 76 

The Clock ^^ 

The Legend of the Rose 78 

Similitude 78 

The Answer of the Soul 79 

Tf We Knew 79 

At Twilight 80 

Hope 80 

Love 81 

Beauty 81 

Women 82 

The Birth of Song 83 

On the Corner 83 

The New and Old 85 

Better 86 

Gone Before 87 

If You Were Near 88 

Envy 89 

When Baby Sleeps . 90 

As Twilight Falls 91 



TO MY WIFE. 

For all your love, for all your care, 
For all you've borne, for all you bear, 
For what you've been, for what you are, 
My heart's great ease, my guiding star, 
I wreathe this garland of my lays. 
And lay it at your feet in praise ; 
For what you've been to me alway, 
This tribute of my love I pay. 

For all I've lacked I here atone, 
And dedicate to you, your own. 
You were the inspiration, dear. 
Of all the thought recorded here. 
The source and spring of all my rhymes, 
The critic, too, perchance, at times; 
So as your tribute and your due, 
I dedicate them, love, to you. 



PROEM 

Into the world I send these rugged rhymes, 

As on an errand we send forth a child ; 

Unpolished they, and still not rude, but mild 
With human sympathy, childlike, at times. 
No clarion note sounds here. No silver chimes 

Of splendid poesy. No accents wild 

Of a soul to grief still unreconciled. 
Nor here the hypocritic art of mimes. 
But as the tender child goes on its way 

And simply does the task it was to do, 
So wander forth these simple rhymes to-day. 

To reach some kindred hearts and find them 
true : 
They sing their song to souls that hope and pray, 

And twine the heartsease always with the rue. 

Not nurtured they within that school of thought 
That sweet delicacy of phrase doth teach. 
Or banal platitudes with culture preach ; 
But rather with that rougher knowledge bought 
From sad experience, or sadly wrought 

From hearts that stood within grim sorrow's 

breach , 
Do they with all their simpleness outreach 
9 



Their heartful hand, hopeful to be caught 

Within the hands of hearts that throbbing, 
beat 

In unison with human woe and weal ; 
Aud if it be that e'er their passion's heat 

Shall cause one kindred soul to glow or feel, 
Then shall they know they suffer no defeat. 

E'en though they're hurt by critics cruel steel. 






ir 



WHEN MY PIPE GOES OUT. 

When the murk of twihght settles down and 

covers roof and spire, 
I love to sit and smoke, beside a cheerful crack- 
ling fire ; 
And as I puff the vapor from my humble pipe 

of clay. 
My cares go with the clouds of smoke and 

serenely pass away ; 
The years give back their faces, and old friends 

pass into view, ^ 

While memory recalls once more scenes which 

my childhood knew ; 
Fancy waves her magic wand and my youth's 

bright dreams arise. 
Young love's romance I read again — a moistness 

fills my eyes — 
For there must come a thought, perchance, of 

days of purest bliss. 
When all the rapture of the world was centered 

in a kiss. 
The hopes of other times return, and memories 

throng about. 
But they vanish like the clouds of smoke, when 

my pipe goes out. 

T I 



RUGGED RHYMES 

The hazy vapor rises dimly seen amid the gloom, 
x\nd in rings of soothing fragrance it floats 

throughout the room ; 
The problems of the future, and in fact, each 

present need, 
Are lulled into forgetfulness by this narcotic 

weed; 
It stills the sense of carking care, and dulls the 

pangs of grief. 
While to the heart bowed down in woe it brings 

a short relief; 
It wafts me on to Lethe where the silent waters 

flow. 
And fancy rests in dreamy meads where poppies 

ever grow. 
The world takes on a rosy hue, its petty troubles 

flee, 
A happy flood of sweet content comes stealing 

over me ; 
While I smoke I lose all thought of the world's 

turmoil and rout, 
But I awaken to its sadness — when my pipe 

goes out. 



Oft, anon, with weirdly power this magic pipe 

of mine. 
Brings iridescent dreams to me, and fancies 

most divine. 



12 



RUGGED RHYMES 

Then my soul beats 'gainst its earthly bars and 

fondly longs to fly 
To the sunshine land of golden dreams where 

love can never die; 
Where sorrow never has been known, nor dark 

despairing sin, 
Where hate and wrong and envy's sneer can 

never enter in. 
Where merit does not fade and die nor droop 

down sickly pale, 
Ere recognition's loud acclaim to the world im- 
parts its tale; 
Where love has never been betrayed, and where 

the meed of fame 
Is not bestowed unworthily on the glitter of a 

name ; 
Where faith and hope are never lost within the 

mist of doubt — 
But my castellated fancies fall — when my pipe 

goes out. 



-Q> 



MEMORY, 

The sad remembrance of a hope long lost, 

Will haunt the soul when grief itself is dead ; 

And memory still counts the bitter cost 

Of wrecked ideals, though sorrow long, has 
fled. 



RUGGED RHYMES 

THE PATTER OF BABY'S FOOTSTEPS. 

1 love to hear the melody that's in the song of 

birds, 
I love to hear the music of the poet's tender 

words, 
I love to hear the break and roar of waves upon 

the strand. 
And I love to hear the music played by orchestra 

and band; 
All these do I delight in, but there's something 

I love more, 
'Tis the patter of baby's footsteps coming o'er 

the floor. 

A sweet half hesitation as if baby were afraid 
Of her own timid essay, and in another moment's 

laid 
Her little head of golden curls upon my parent 

knee; 
Then all her little troubles cease and all her 

sorrows flee; 
I love the strains of singers but there's something 

I love more, 
'Tis the patter of baby's footsteps coming o'er 

the floor. 

Sometimes when my plans go wrong and I'm 

filled with deepest gloom, 
Silent and sad I sit alone within my quiet room, 

H 



RUGGED RHYMES 

And meditate on troubles, ills, and my great load 

of care, 
And then I feel the weight of woe and darkness 

of despair; 
But there's a sound that cheers me up and makes 

me smile once more, 
'Tis the patter of baby's footsteps coming o'er 

the floor. 

It follows me when I go forth and meets me on 

return ; 
And for the music, all day long, my heart doth 

ever yearn : 
I crave not many favors, but for this I often 

pray, 
May that pattering follow me for many a long 

day; 
Long may I be sweetly thrilled to my bosom's 

very core. 
By the patter of baby's footsteps coming o'er 

the floor. 

But those footsteps will grow apace into a 

woman's stride. 
And baby's form — a woman's grown — be by 

another's side ; 
Then little forms will come, I hope, and cluster 

'round her knee. 
And look up smilingly at her, as she now does 

at me, 

15 



RUGGED RHYMES 

And her dear heart be filled with bliss as mine 

was filled before — 
By the patter of baby's footsteps coming o'er 

the floor. 



<::> 



THE STORY OF THE 'WILLOW PLATE/' 

Have you heard the story of old Lu Ling 
And his beautiful daughter, sweet Lu Sing, 
Of her lover Wang and of old Wung Wee, 
The tale that on the Willow Plate you see? 
Well, attention give to the poet's rhyme, 
And list to the legend of olden time ; 
A story of love from old China far. 
When loving tryst 'neath moon and star 
Was held, in spite of old Lu Ling, 
By handsome Wang and the fair Lu Sing. 

A wealthy banker was great Lu Ling, 
Adored his gold and his child Lu Sing; 
He lived in state near the river's bank. 
Where the willow grew and its deep roots sank 
To the river's marge where the waters flowed, 
And the silent tide in the sunlight glowed : 
By a rustic bridge the stream was spanned, 
Which joined an isle to its mother land. 
On this island fair, in idyllic life. 
Lived Lu Ling's gardener and his wife; 

i6 



RUGGED RHYMES 

True friends were they of the young Lu Sing 

And ever sought to quietly bring 

Together, — so doth the legend state — 

The Chinese maid and her true soul-mate. 

For Lu Sing loved, and she ever sang 

Of her father's clerk, the handsome Wang; 

And Wang loved her — but ah ! poor was he, — 

And a rich man's daughter, that was she : 

No hope there seemed of wedded bliss; 

But fate denied neither smile nor kiss ; 

And in secret often these two met, 

And hoped that fate would favor yet. 

One night, to help him sup his tea, 

Lu Ling brought the wealthy, high Wung Wee : 

Then Wung Wee saw the maiden fair. 

And asked her father then and there 

For Lu Sing's hand — Wung Wee had gold — 

And she'd lived well — but he was old 

And ugly — not so was Wang — and she, 

Woman-like, equivocated ; — Wee 

Might wait a month, for brides must dress 

In emblematic lovliness, — 

And gowns took time to make ; and so 

Wung Wee, deluded, home did go. 

The time drew on, the eve at hand, 

When Lu Sing with Wung Wee would stand 



RUGGED RHYMES 

At the altar — if so they wed — and be 
For e'er the wife of old Wung Wee. 
But e'en that- day Lu Sing had sent 
To Wang a message — and he, intent 
On its intelligence, had come 
To the very door of Lu Sing's home. 
The die was cast for the lovers two. 
And with deep pledged vows of love so true 
They fled — across the bridge where the gar- 
dener's cot 
Stood in its deep embowered spot; 
Then in the rooms of the gardener's wife 
They staid some hours — till noise and strife 
Told of pursuit; then in a boat 
For an island far they set afloat. 

Lu Ling had closed no eye in sleep, 
And in his restlessness did creep 
With slow-paced steps the garden path. 
Unmindful of his coming wrath : 
As he reached the bridge the wind 
Sprang up — the willow swayed — and blind 
Did he become, for an insect nigh, 
Was straightway blown into his eye. 
Then home he stumbled and in agony 
For his daughter called — for she 
Could ease the pain : No answer came : 
Then rage shook all his feeble frame ; 
To her room he went — she was not there ! 
In wrath and spleen he tore his hair, 

i8 



RUGGED RHYMES 

And called his men. No longer blind 

He headed them — his child to find. 

They crossed the bridge to the gardener's house, 

But the worthy gardener and his spouse 

Affected not to hear each shout, 

But seeming slept, till the sun peeped out: 

Then, knowing the friends of their own heart 

Had now some several hours start, 

They let the angered father in. He 

But cursed and stormed the more to see 

The pair had flown. Then in pursuit 

He started. With burning rage now mute 

He sailed the river gleaming wide. 

With all the speed of wind and tide, 

Until the pair he had pursued 

At length in speechless rage he viewed. 

The lovers twain some hours before. 
Had reached the island's welcome shore ; 
Some hours spent in love's sweet talk, , 
And then through woodland paths a walk ; 
And now with lips pressed unto lips. 
Each unheeded minute trips. 
No heed have they as time passes by 
Of dread pursuit — until a cry 
Rings on the air : then from their dreams 
They awake to stern reality : it seems 
A toss from heaven to hell — for there. 
To their souls' most utter deep despair, 



RUGGED RHYMES 

The pursuers come with vengeance dire ; 

They cannot meet that father's ire : 

What can be done? There's no escape — 

No hope at all in any shape; 

But they can die — ah ! that can they — 

Wang but whispers, she doth obey. 

From his breast Wang draws a vial small, 

One draught he takes — and that is all : 

One look he gives to fair Lu Sing, "^ 

She to his body there doth cling : 

She takes a draught of the poison deep — 

On Wang's breast falls ; — in death they sleep. 

With arms entwined on the sandy beach. 
Just out of the water's treacherous reach, 
Side by side on the yielding sands, 
The father finds them when he lands : 
But their spirits in the form of doves. 
Which symbolizes all their love's 
Gr^at purity, go soaring high 
E'en to the vault of the sunlit sky. 
With rioting soul the father then, 
And all that turbulent tribe of men. 
Turned back in madness. At last 
He reached his home, and passed 
The portals of the gardener's cot. 
Slew man and wife upon the spot. 
Nor felt remorse. — Of his dark end 
The legend saith not. But the bend 

20 



RUGGED RHYMES 

Of the willows the dull earth sweeping, 

Give the name to them of the willows weeping: 

They weep their tears in the silent air 

At the sad'ning fate of the Chinese pair; 

And tell to the winds as their branches swing, 

The tale of Wang and the fair Lu Sing. 

The legend doth this story state, 

And 'twas pictured on the willow plate 

Long years ago by Chinese hands ; 

And now is copied in other lands 

To tell the world of old Lu Ling, 

Of handsome Wang, and sweet Lu Sing. 



-^^^ 



IVHEN THE PROMPTER RINGS THE 
BELL. 

Before the varied play begins, 

Riot reigns behind the scenes; 
The shifters work like beavers there 

Setting castles and ravines : 
Busy tumult's on the stage 

Confusion in the wings — 
But there's a mighty talisman 

That changes all these things ; 
A transformation comes around 

Where all had rushed pell-mell 
And everything stands in its place. 

When the prompter rings the bell. 

21 



RUGGED RHYMES 

'Tis the magic sound which tells to all 

That the curtain now will rise, 
To let the pictured tale show men 

How all vice with virtue vies; 
The soubrette standing in the wings 

Trills a line or two of song, 
While by her side the leading man 

Stands a type of manhood strong. 
There's the debutante who for the stage 

Left her home and friends as well — 
ilow anxiously her sad heart beats, 

When the prompter rings the bell. 

There's the comedian who plays 

Though his heart is with his child, 
Whom he has left at home to-night 

Lying in a fever wild ; 
As he stands behind the curtain 

A message is handed him ; 
It reads, ''Come home — the baby's dead" — 

Then the scenes to him grow dim ; 
A bitter sadness fills his heart, 

Which he tries in vain to quell, 
A moaning cry bursts from his lips, 

As the prompter rings the bell. 

The audience sitting out in front 
Know but little of the strife, 

The heartaches and the bitterness 
Surging through this mimic life. 

22 



RUGGED RHYMES 

They do not know the ideals lost 

The promises unfulfilled, 
Nor how ambition in its pride 

Is by disappointment killed. 
For glorious dreams are broken 

By fate's resounding knell, 
And many a fond hope vanishes 

When the prompter rings the bell. 

It behooves us to remember 

That this life is but a stage, 
And we must play the parts assigned 

From the prince down to the page; 
The ''super" cannot play the king 

On intrigue or power bent. 
There must be so}]ie act minor roles. 

So we all should be content ; 
For on the future life's great stage 

Star parts we'll all play well. 
So let us all be ready 

When the Prompter rings the bell. 

KEATS. "*^" 

A tender carol in a rustic dale, 

A gush of music — a glimpse of green re- 
treats, 
A chaste young goddness and a lover pale. 
Lapped in Arcadian bliss — this is Keats. 
23 



RUGGED RHYMES 

BABY STEPS. 

Carefully we stand the baby on her tiny timid 

feet, 
And to urge her footsteps onward we all coax 

and do entreat; 
Still she stands in hesitation though assured by 

word and smile, 
And no prize of sweet caresses will her infant 

soul beguile. 



But, anon, with gathered courage bravely she 
essays to trace 

The short distance that withholds her from her 
mother's fond embrace. 

As each little footstep totters nearer, nearer, to 
the goal. 

Baby's glee breaks out in laughter, dear courage- 
ous little soul. - 



Thus at last she reaches mother and receives the 
meed of toil, 

In the form of tender kisses — sweetness time can 
ne'er despoil ; 

So, each day the task's repeated, till within the 
course of time. 

Baby walks alone, unaided, through sweet child- 
hood's days sublime. 

24 



RUGGED RHYMES 

As I watch her, memory wakens — as memory 

sometimes will — 
Thoughts of silent, crypt-like houses which no 

no children's voices fill. 
Desolate and cheerless houses though embellished 

quite complete ; 
Soulless all, without the patter of the little 

children's feet. 

And the dwellers in those houses — do they know 

the joy they miss, 
Without the little forms to cherish or tiny lips 

to kiss? 
Joyless, lifeless, is their living, though wealth's 

pleasures give it case, 
With no little eyes to brighten, and no infant 

hearts to please. 

And the ones whose little darlings greet no more 

their yearning sight, 
What consolement has their anguish, where the 

balm for all their blight? 
Then mercy have on them oh. Heaven ! as they 

in silent hours weep; 
In the little mounds they visit, all their hopes lie 

buried deep. 



But the thought should yet sustain them that 
their darlings have not shared 

All the heartaches and the trials which no mor- 
tal's yet been spared ; 

25 



RUGGED RHYMES 

And the little feet so tender that in childhood's 

ways had trod, 
Now are pattering near the Glory in the nursery 

of God. 

WATCHING THE RAIN. 
I sit with my boy in the gloaming, 

Looking out through the blurred window 
pane, 
Looking out on the gathering twilight, 

And the mist of the down-pouring rain. 

The gloom of the twilight has chilled me. 
And the sorrows that can never find rest. 

Come back to awaken the keenness, 

Of the pain that is hid in my breast. 



boy in his innocent sweetness 
Laughs aloud in his pure childish glee, 
As the rain-drops fall on the window — 
At the rain that brings sadness to me. 

I have passed through the valley dividing 

The land of the real and ideal; 
While the feet of the boy sitting by me 

Have the stones of life's path yet to feel. 

God spare him the trials, I pray me, 

That beset the rough paths of most men, 

God help him — I pray as I kiss him,- 

God help him — and I kiss him again. 
26 



RUGGED RHYMES 



A feeling of impassioned sadness 

Fills my soul with a soft hallowed pain ; 
I press my boy close to my bosom, 

As I gaze on the down-pouring rain. 



IF I HAD KNOWN. ■ 

If I had known 
That to-day you would be so still and pale and 
cold, 
I would have left those bitter words un- 
spoken ; 
I would have kissed you as I did in days of old, 
And not have left you stricken and heart 
broken, 

If I had known. 



If I had known — 
tOh God ! how like a mockery those harsh words 
seem — 
That you were as guiltless as the babe un- 
born, 
Our life had been one fair and long unending 
dream, 
As sweetly rapturous as a summer morn, 
If I had known. 
27 



RUGGED RHYMES 

If I had known 
Our dream of love, one day, would come to such 
an end, 
I had prayed God, to ere this let me die ; 
That your poor heart would to misery's depths 
descend, 
I would not have given ear to that base lie — 
If I had known. 



If I had known 
That your dear hand so often sweetly laid in 
mine, 
Would itself put end to your yet budding 
life. 
No words from me would have ever made you 
pine. 
No act of mine, would have caused you 
bitter strife, 

If I had known. 



If I had known 
That the end of all your passion would be this, 
I would have joined you in that venturous 
leap; 
With arms entwined and lips in one last raptur- 
ous kiss. 
Together we should have gone in final sleep. 
If I had known. 
28 



RUGGED RHYMES 

A CREED. 
I fight against the doctrines of a creed 

That teaches future woe — damnation deep 

And endless punishment. Eternal sleep 
Than this is better — better far indeed; 
And yet what is Oblivion as meed 

For all the things in life that make us weep — 

The many sorrows that around us creep — 
The deprivations of our daily need. 
Teach me a creed that has a promise bright, 

Without alternative of lasting hell ; 
A creed whose star of hope is love's pure light, 

Whose hymns are never drowned by damn- 
ing knell ; 
A creed of mercy, justice, truth and right, 

Where man loves God and God loves man 
as well. 

GONE. '■ 

Sweet flower of my saddened heart, 

Bright bud of love. 
E'er of my life the dearest part. 

And joy thereof; 
The years are darkened, love, for me. 

Since that drear day, 
When in the earth they tenderly 

Laid you away. 

29 



RUGGED RHYMES 

Amid the day's turmoil and schemes 

I see thee dear, 
And, when the night brings welcome dreams, 

I hold thee near; 
No hour has passed that has not brought 

Thy face to me; 
Each heart-throb brings a tender thought. 

Sweet one, of thee. 
Could I but hold thee to this breast 

Just for a space, 
And bid thee, dearest, there to rest 

In that loved place, 
The world would be a paradise, 

The sun would shine. 
The joy of years within my eyes 

Would show in thine. 
It cannot be : with ev'ry wind 

Flowers o'er thee wave ; 
The tears that now my eyes do blind 

Fall on thy grave. 
But still I know thy spirit's nigh ; 

T cease my moan ; 
I feel, dear love, that thou art by. 

My own, my own. 



30 



RUGGED RHYMES 

THE SOURCES OF SONG. 

In the bright, golden splendor of morning; 

In the calm, hazy hush of the noon ; 
In the simset the red west adorning; 

In the pale, lustrous rise of the moon. 

In the fleck of the foam on the ocean ; 

In the break of the waves on the strand ; 
In the song of the birds, and the motion 

That sweeps through the great forests grand. 

In the heart-beats of man and of woman; 

In their lives and their loves and their hates; 
In their joys, griefs, and dreams superhuman ; 

In their births and their deaths and their 
fates. 

In the trust in immortal life's story ; 

In the pulse-beat of hope, swift and strong; 
In the faith of the spirit's pure glory, — 

Are the inspiring sources of song. 

FAME. 

A dream within the mind of youth ! 

A hope — a pain ; an intent that permeates 

A life. A name within the mouths of men ; 

A bubble bursting in the air of time — 

A fevered living and a bitter death, 

And then — a marble slab. 

31 



RUGGED RHYMES 

GOOD NIGHT. 

Good night, dear love, may angels keep 
A tender watch above thy sleep, 
And in the deep and silent hours 
Waft thee on to dreamland's bowers. 
So sweet, good night. 

Good night, dear love, may thoughts of me 
In sleep unfold themselves to thee. 
And thy dear lips in dreams proclaim 
The whispered accents of my name. 
So sweet, good night. 

<::> 

NOW THAT YOU ARE GONE. 

Now that you are gone, 
What does it matter that the sun still shines. 
That birds still sing and Nature seems to 
smile ? 
My heart each hour in lonely sadness pines, 
And dreary, weary is the world the while. 
Now that you are gone. 

Now that you are gone, 
What does it n>atter that men call me friend. 
That hands touch mine in well meant sym- 
pathy ? 
They lack the thrill that your sweet clasp did send 
Into the soul which holds your memory. 
Now that you are gone. 
32 



RUGGED RHYMES 

Now that you are gone, 
What does it matter that the meed of fame 

Is mine at last, for work acclaimed well 
done ? 
You are not here to list them speak my name — 
I hold it but an empty guerdon won, 
Now that you are gone. 

Now that you are gone, 
What does it matter that some wealth I've 
gained ? 
1 wished it once to ease your brow of care ; 
Why comes it now to mock the heart so pained 
Already with the darkness of despair. 
Now that you are gone? 

Now that you are gone. 
What does it matter should I cease to live ; 
The world is barren of all joy and hope. 
I have no heart its tasks to take and give, 
No courage with its pettiness to cope, 
Now that you are gone. 

Now that you are gone, 
My life is dark, but, lo ! a ray of light 

Gleams on my soul and lightens up the way 
I should traverse. It is a beacon bright 

That turns grief's night to cheerful hope's 
bright day. 
E'en though you are gone. 

33 



RUGGED RHYMES 

Now that you are gone, 
T take the task you laid so gently down, 
And if I follow in your footsteps true 
1 yet may win the future's golden crown — 
The right to be forever, love,, with you, 
Where you are gone. 

THE POETS GRAVE. 

Beneath the shadow of the pine 

Now low he lies, 
While o'er him play the sunbeams fine. 

From smiling skies ; 
No sculptured stone to tell his worth 

Is here upraised, 
Nor 'mong the dwellers on the earth 

Is he much praised ; 
He struggled for the truth and right 

In humble way; 
He wrote his songs far in the night, 

And toiled by day. 
He sang a few sweet, simple lays 

Out of his heart, 
Too fine to meet much human praise, — 

Pure gems of art. 
Flis life was sad, but, sadder yet, 

We won no fame ; 
He died without the world's regret. 
Without a name. 

34 



RUGGED RHYMES 

Unknown he lived, unknown he died ; 

Yet such as he, 
The heroes who have fate defied. 

Shall ever be 
Rewarded with the meed of praise 

When time doth cease, 
And in the light of future days 

Obtain their peace. 
Beneath the shadow of the pine 

Now low he lies, 
While o'er him play the sunbeams fine, 

From smiling skies ; 
And as we pass the sacred spot. 

We gently tread, 

For here lies one the world's forgot, 

A genius dead. 
^> 

IVHEN I WATCH THE CHILDREN FLAY. 

When the single star of ev'ning shines in the 
dusky sky, 

And the twilight's tender voices in softened mur- 
murs die, 

When in the west there faintly gleams a narrow 
streak of red, 

And to their homes within the woods the robins 
all have fled, 

Then, though my busy fancy through the scenes 
of life may roam, 

A subtle influence recalls my straying thoughts 

to home ; 

35 , . 



RUGGED RHYMES 

And as I sit in silence while the daylight dies 

away, 
I lose all sense of trouble when I watch the 

children play. 

When o'er the earth the dreamy shade of peace- 
ful ev'ning falls, 
And to her mate within the trees the bluebird 

sweetly calls, 
'Tis a signal for the children then to gather on 

the green, 
Where joyous sport and merry games lend a 

charm unto the scene; 
"Puss in the corner," "blind man's buff," they 

play with joy intense, 
While in "hide and seek" they dodge behind 

the worn out garden fence ; 
Though at bedtime mother stops them, I fain 

would have them stay, 
For home seems doubly dear to me when I watch 

the children play. 

This home is but a humble spot, yet love reigns 
there supreme ; 

Its lowliness is lighted by contentment's cheerful 
gleam ; 

The children's merry voices fill its rooms with 
music sweet. 

And my happiness is tuned to the time of romp- 
ing feet, 

36 



RUGGED RHYMES 

The gorgeousness of riches many sordid men 
may crave. 

And some poor fools may live content in being- 
fashion's slave; 

Instead of these give me the peace of love's undy- 
ing ray, 

That in my heart I always feel when I watch 
the children play. 



^^ 



WHEN EVENING COMES. 

Behind the hills the red sun sets; 
Like lengthened blood stained parapets 
Rose tinted clouds lie 'cross the west; 
Fair Nature sinks to quiet rest, 
When evening comes. 



A rustling fills the green hill side, 
As through the grasses zephyrs glide ; 
The sunlight slowly fades away, 
And peaceful wanes the dying day, 
When evening comes. 

The brilliance of the evening star 
Shines in the western steep afar. 
Dim twilight's dusky softness fills 
The valleys and surmounts the hills, 
When ^evening comes. 

37 



RUGGED RHYMES 

The dancing waters darkly show 
A deeper undulating glow, 
And o'er the sombre turning tide 
The fisher's craft is swiftly plied, 
When evening comes. 

Adown the road the tired teams 
Return amid the fading gleams; 
The birds' last song is sweetly trilled, 
The heart of man with peace is filled. 
When evening comes. 

Life's many cares and woes now seem 
To pass away as in a dream; 
A hallowed hush falls on the soul, 
And o'er the heart love holds control, 
When evening comes. 

Ah, would that love would ever reign; 
And hearts find sweet surcease of pain; 
Ah, would that we could always feel 
The tender thrills that o'er us steal, 

When evening comes. 
^:> 
THE POETS BLISS. 
The silent hours the poet spends with thought, 
Hold truer bliss than aught the world con- 
tains — 
More happiness than Croesus ever bought 

With all the fullness of his gold and gains; 
For then, within the poet's heart there springs 
Fair love and truth of which he sweetly sings. 

38 



RUGGED RHYMES 

LOVE'S CRY OF ANGUISH. 
The sunlit waves came softly up the strand ; 

The softened murmur of that golden tide 
Broke gently at our feet as hand in hand 

We sat so silently, until you sighed 
In sweet excess of happiness and I 

Breathed words of love you said you'd ne'er 
forget ; 
With arms entwined beneath that summer sky 

In love's first kiss our lips together met. 

The winter winds that day were blowing wild 

As sad I knelt and saw your soul depart; 
And while you fell asleep, oh, love, you smiled. 

As if you sought to ease my breaking heart. 
The old-time look of love came in your face 

Ere on your brow the seal of death was set ; 
Our arms entwined in one farewell embrace. 

In love's last kiss our lips together met. 

To mem'ry now there is no other time 

But those two days when joy was born and 
died ; 
A golden day in love's own summer time, 

A bleak gray day when winds and sorrow 
sighed. 
'Neat4i sunlit skies that tender love was born — 

The skies were leaden cold that other day. 
When bright-winged angels from the halls of 
morn, 
Took you to God and left me here to stay. 

39 



RUGGED RHYMES 

Through all the ways of life I walk alone 

And tread the paths that you and I once 
trod — 
The heart within me is as cold as stone, 

And not less dead than thine beneath the 
sod. 
From out the darkness where I sadly roam, 

I cry aloud in anguish, love, to thee, 
Oh, can you hear within your spirit home — 
"Come back, oh love, oh love, come back 
to me." 

CHATTERTON. 

As when from out a mass of clouds there darts 

The mist-dispelling, earth-refreshing sun. 

So out' from dark oblivion's cloud comes one 
Who gave to song the fullness of his heart's 
Young ecstasy ; who of all human parts 

The saddest played — the great souled Chat- 
terton 

Art's fond scion and Nature's noble son. 
The feeble shade of Rowley now departs; 
Alone stands Chatterton with boyish frown. 

And deep despair within his saddened eye ; 
A yearning look cast toward that golden crown 

Which statesmen struggle for and poet's vie ; 
The soaring soul that Walpole could not down. 

Shall live for aye — for genius cannot die. 
40 



RUGGED RHYMES 

THE COOL OCTOBER DAYS. 

The quail is piping shrilly in the marsh reeds 
straight and tall — 

Echo from the fields afar sends back an answer- 
ing call; 

The skies o'erhead are clearer with a purer, 
brighter blue, 

And Nature dons her garment fair of changing 
russet hue; 

The distant hills stand clearly out in perspective 
tall and fair, 

And sounds are borne distincter on the keener 
Autumn air. 

A color glory fills the fields from brown to 
golden blaze, 

And life takes on a purpose, in the cool Octo- 
ber days. 

The blood comes bounding stronger through the 

veins of lusty youth, 
And souls are filled with tenser dreams of love 

and faith and truth; 
Hope surmounts the obstacles that beset the path 

of life, 
And courage urges fainting hearts to buckle for 

the strife. 
The breezes cool are bracing and they fan the 

whitened cheek, 
Of him who early in the fight has grown so wan 

and weak; 

41 



RUGGED RHYMES 

To heaven thanks are daily poured as raptur- 
ously we gaze 

On Nature's boundless beauty, in the cool Octo- 
ber days. 

^> 

WHEN DAYLIGHT STEALS AWAY. 

I love to stand beside the restless sea, 

When westv^ard fades the crimson dying 
day, 
And watch its beauty and its glory flee, 

At that still hour when daylight steals 

away ; 
Light flies the wind on rustling pinions gay. 
Crag piled on crag of snow-pure clouds I scan, 
With ruddy tints and hues cerulean, 

Those Titan forms that through the ether 
stray. 

The chastened lustre of each sunset ray, 

Striving to paint some glory while 'tis 

fleeing, 
With beauty's spirit raptures all my being 
At that soft hour when daylight steals away. 
When evening sheds around her silken 
calm — 
And falling shadows darken all the gray, 

Then silence comes — the wounded spirit's 
balm — 
'Tis beautiful when daylight steals away. 

42 



RUGGED RHYMES 

Soon comes the moon high saiUng o'er the trees, 
Shedding on all her pale and ghostly light. 
Sweet henedictions float upon the breeze, 

No heart now feels the bitterness of blight. 
When eve, the dusky follower of day, 

Draws back the curtain that conceals the 

stars, 
A peace prevails that no contention mars, 
The world grows still when daylight steals away. 

^:> 
SNO IV DRIFT. 

Cold and white the snowflakes falling. 

Cover all the busy town, 
Filling ev'ry street and alley 

As they drift so softly down. 

Pure as prayer the silent snowflakes 
Mantle earth with robe of white, 

Making ev'ry tree a gaunt wraith 
To the children's great delight. 

Loud their laughter, shrill their shouting. 

As they dance about in glee, 
But the silent snowflakes falling. 

Bring no merriment to me. 

For my thought so sadly busy 
Goes beyond the city's bound, 

Where the snow is slowly sloping — 
Slowly covering a mound. 

43 



RUGGED RHYMES 

There the Httle one so fondly 

Held with love against my breast, 

Lies beneath the falling snowflakes 
In a long, undreaming rest. 

On her grave the snow is falling, — 
It will fall throughout the night ; 

It will cover my dear baby 

With a pall of virgin white. 

But my heart cannot sustain it 

It to me is still a pall. 
So the tears start to my eyelids. 

As the silent snowflakes fall. 

AT SUNSET. 
Across the beetling cloud's white parapet 
The sun-god hangs his streamers of deep red ; 
Crimson, as if the day's pure heart had bled, 
And let its ichor run to where 'twas met 
By gray and blue with deepest gold inset ; 
The fiery grandeur of the day has fled. 
And twilight's restful peace comes in its stead, 
To ease the world of half its care and fret. 
Adown the western steep there faintly gleams 

The fading brilliance of departing day; 
The ev'ning haze creeps o'er the restless streams. 

And silent is the robin's tender lay; 
While o'er the heart come soft and hallowed 
dreams. 

Like beacons bright to light its future way. 
44 



RUGGED RHYMES 

VIOLA— A MEMORY. 

Viola, you were rightly named, 
A violet of sweetest grace; 
The fairest flower that ever claimed 
In loving hearts a dwelling place. 

You came to us in troubled days, 

To cheer us with your baby smile, 

To comfort us with winsome ways. 
And brighten life for us awhile. 

Love's latest blossom frail and fair. 

You were the first to fade and die; 
You left us to our deep despair 

With saddened hearts and tear-dimmed eye. 

Out on the sun-kissed grassy slope. 

We laid you down one summer day ; 

'Twas then we buried sweetest hope, 
In that dark grave wherein you lay. 

Oh ! how we miss you, little child, 

Throughout each weary, lonesome hour; 

Your dimpled smile, and prattle mild. 
Our little, tender, blighted flower. 

To you, through all the coming years. 

Our memory shall ever turn ; 
For you shall ever fall these tears. 

For you our hearts shall ever yearn. 

45 



RUGGED RHYMES 



God grant us strength to bear our pain, 
And give us hope to light our way ; 

God grant that we shall see again 

The babe we lost one summer day. 



WHEN WE WERE YOUNG, 

On the shores of hearing never yet there broke 
The murmuring stream of such melody, 

As when your voice within my soul awoke 

The thrilling glow of love's bright ecstasy, 
When we were young. 

In the garden fair of those early years 

The flowers blossomed and the sweet birds 
sang, 
And youthful hearts knew neither woe nor tears, 
But all the hours with joyous laughter rang. 
When we were young. 

The days all glided like a golden stream 

Towards the harbor that has made us old ; 

The time is past of young romance's dream — 
Ah, love of mine, the world was not so cold, 

y When we were young. 

46 



RUGGED RHYMES 

The twilight dim succeeds the sunset glow, 
Our life's gray eve is nearing to its end; 

But yet our hearts the same sweet faith do know, 
As when to life love many charms did lend, 
When we were young. 

We have not aged but in our outer guise, 

Our heads are silvered, but our hearts are 
gold; 
We still view love with deep and tender eyes. 
As e'er we did in those sweet days of old. 
When we were young. 

So shall it be as long as life shall last. 

For love's great power rejuvenates us both; 

As fancy wanders to the happy past. 

We kiss again as did we — nothing loth, 
When we were young. 

<:> 

FATE. ' 
Dark and fell is the ocean's swell. 

As we gaze out to sea ; 
A storm-tossed boat, upturned, afloat; 

A brave lad's soul is free. 

Within a cot fair hope is not 

Where hope was wont to be ; 

A mother wild weeps o'er her child ; 
'Tis dark fate's stern decree. 
47 



RUGGED RHYMES 

Again the sea shines merrily ; 

The sun shines just as fair; 
But a mother's heart feels the bitter smart 

Of heavy-eyed despair. 

THE TALES THAT FATHER USED TO 

TELL. 

Cooper's Indian tales I've read — Emerson Ben- 
nett's, too; 

Sylvanus Cobb's great serials of somewhat lurid 
hue; 

And I've perused Sir Walter Scott and Kipling 
terse and strong, 

Thackeray, Hope, A. Conan Doyle and all the 
gifted throng. 

But though they're great and though their books 
by many thousand sell, 

They never wrote such stories as my father used 
to tell. 

When tea was o'er and lessons learned we 

youngsters gathered round 
The hearthside where our father sat and never 

made a sound; 
But open-mouthed and sparkling-eyed drank in 

with eager ears, 
Tales that made our laughter ring or moved us 

all to tears. 

48 



RUGGED RHYMES 

Those stories would put us children into a magic 

spell — 
I've ne'er read anything like the tales that father 

used to tell. 

For hours we would breathless sit and then beg 

him to go on, 
While mother would expostulate, "Why, look at 

the hour, John !" 
But we would crave another one and father 

would relate 
A story that would raise the hair upon each 

youngster's pate. 
Those stories w^ere most marvelous ones. W^ere 

they real? Well, 
I only know we prized those tales that father 

used to tell. 

When many heroes had been wed and numerous 
villains killed, 

And mother thought we youngsters had suffi- 
ciently been thrilled. 

We knelt down there beside her and with ramb- 
ling thoughts we said 

The childish prayers that Heaven heard — and 
then went off to bed. 

And if we dreamed of wondrous things, why lay 
it to the spell, 

Induced by all the charming tales that father 
used to tell. 

40 



RUGGED RHYMES 

Many authors of renown it has been my lot 

to read; 
In fiction I have dalHed o'er many a daring deed ; 
But neither now in later years nor in my younger 

days, 
Have I ever read a story that could win from 

me the praise 
That once I lavished on the tales in which dad 

did excel — 
They were really masterpieces that father used 

to tell. 

I've written stories, too, myself and tried hard 

to succeed, 
In putting forth a narrative that other folks 

would read; 
I published one, brought it to dad — was filled 

with deep despair, 
When having read it he remarked that it was 

only fair: 
Oh ! this I know that I could win great wealth 

and fame as well, 
If I could just rewrite the tales that father used 

to tell. 



50 



RUGGED RHYMER 



THE SONGS THAT MOTHER SANG. 
The mem'ry of those simple lays my heart will 

ever keep, 
The ballads that my mother sang as she rocked 

me off to sleep ; 
An echo of the far off years I seem to hear them 

now, 
With the little break when she would stop to kiss 

her baby's brow; 
"Hazel Dell/' "Sweet Nellie Gray," and "The 

Cottage By The Sea," 
They were among the simple songs that mother 

sang to me. 

"The Suwanee River" sweetly flows along the 

course of time ; 
"My Old Kentucky Home" I hear with simple 

air and rhyme ; 
"Silver Threads Among the Gold," I recall it 

with a sigh, 
And the tender lulling cadence of "The Sweet 

Bye and Bye;" 
I ne'er can hear those old-time songs without 

they bring a pang, 
For they are hallowed to my heart — the songs 

that mother sang. 



51 



RUGGED RHYMES 

Perhaps as mother sang them all with me there 

in her fold, 
She thought of her boy's dim future — its years 

so stern and cold; 
Perhaps that was the reason she would press me 

to her breast, 
And with a song of pathos sweet would lull me 

there to rest. 
Ah ! mother would that I again a little lad 

could be, 
And listen to those old-time songs you sang so 

tenderly. 

How closely would I nestle in your sheltering 
embrace ; 

How I'd watch your love's sweet rapture re- 
flected in your face ; 

And how I'd fondly listen for the love-note in 
your tone, 

That now I miss so sadly as I walk 'mong men 
alone ; 

All that the years have brought me I'd relinquish 
without sigh, 

Just to hear your voice again as you sang some 
lullaby. 

Mother's voice has now been stilled for many a 

weary year, 
Hut whispering remembrance brings the tones I 

loved to hear: 

52 



RUGGED RHYMES 

Perhaps within her Heaven home she's singing 

yet to me, 
And her spirit voice is that which I have thought 

was memory : 
Perhaps in Hfe's dark twihght when I'm sinking 

through the gloam, 
My spirit she may lead to her by singing "Home 

Sweet Home." 



^> 



MY LAMP. 

'Tis midnight's cahnful hour and I would write : 
But, Lamp, you burn so fitfully and low, 
I know your flame is fast expiring. So • 
I must withhold the thoughts I would indite 
To censure wrong and vindicate the right. 
Now do I know it wrong to undergo 
The stress of dull procrastination slow, 
And hold for eve what should have seen day's 

light. 
How like unto your fretful dying spark, 

Shall one day be that flame that I call life ; 
Which when it's merging in one night's dull dark. 
Shall mind me— Oh ! had charity been rife— 
Of souls I've passed so naked and so stark, 

Whom timely love had clothed for all the 
strife. 

53 



RUGGED RHYMES 

A SCANDAL. 

Through many years its course it ran 
To smirch the honor of a man; 
And in the night of death's dark gloom 
It came a-knocking at his tomb. 
But when the sun of truth shone out, 
It faded with the mist of doubt ; 
Of this man's honor all then read, 
And he was praised — but he was dead. 



<:> 



BOHEMIA. 
There is a land of fancy — and yet this land is 
real — 
Where the lowly born is equal to him of 
highest birth ; 
Talent is the coin of realm within this land ideal. 
And what you have accomplished, is the 
standard of your worth. 

The worshippers of Mammon and devotees of 
rank, 
Are ever barred admittance into this glori- 
ous land — 
This land of right good fellowslfip where no man 
ever sank 
Through want of brothers' counsel or clasp 
of friendly hand. 

54 



RUGGED RHYMES 

This place is called Bohemia, its denizens are 
those 
Whom mother Nature's gifted with the 
wealth of talents rare; 
Each woman is a loving queen that tender fealty 
knows, 
Every man's king himself though he live 
on frugal fare. 

The pride of worth is felt by all but not the 
pride of place; 
Convention's rules, hold here no sway — un- 
felt staid Fashion's pall ; 
All creeds do here commingle and they deem it 
no disgrace 
To welcome honest brothers who may know 
no creed at all. 

He who has, in Bohemia, will generously give 
To his lesser favored kindred a share of all 
he owns; 
The greed of gold comes not to blight the happy 
life they live — 
Their fortunes are not built upon their 
fellows' tears and groans. 

An erring brother's failings are with charity all 
viewed, 
The slimy tongue of slander Bohemia never 
heeds ; 

55 



RUGGED RHYMES 

With the spirit of true fellowship ev'ry soul's 
imbued — 
And lust of gain steels not the heart as 
needy sorrow pleads. 

The days are fair in Bohemia — sunny days and 
long, 
Where friendship shines like brightest sun 
on thoughts and deeds of worth ; 
The nights are fair in Bohemia — nights of joy 
and song, 
And laughter rings where Custom cold can 
see no cause for mirth. 

The season in Bohemia is always summer time. 
They reck not of a colder clime for wintry 
winds ne'er blow ; 
One's days are passed with reason and another 
one's with rhyme, 
And lips meet lips and hands clasp hands 
and flowers of fancy grow. 

To graven gods Bohemia bends not the fawn- 
ing knee, 
No homage do its citizens to empty title pay ; 
But talent's pure achievements e'en though 
modest they may be,. 
Receive their recognition e'er the man has 
passed away. 

56 



RUGGED RHVMES 

Long may that province flourish where merit 
does not die 
In the throes of weary waiting or despair's 
dull dreary pains ; 
Where voice of fool is never heard, nou envy's 
sneering cry, "^ 

Where women all are fair to see and all 
the men have brains. 

<:^ 

THE ROCK-A-BVE SHIP. 

The Rock-a-bye ship sails every night. 
To the haven the Port of Dreams, 

While at the masthead shines the glowing light 
Of Love's far-reaching cheerful beams. 

The Rock-a-bye ship meets never a storm 
On its way to the Port of Dreams ; 

The heart of the captain with love is warm — 
There never was warmer, it seems. 

The Rock-a-bye ship makes several trips 
To the fair Port of Dreams each night ; 

The first at six, when a fond mother's lips, 
Kiss two eyes that are big and bright. 

The Rock-a-bye ship next sails about eight. 
When a youngster clambers aboard ; 

Then the good ship starts with its precious 
freight. 
By the captain fondly adored. 

57 



RUGGED RHYMES ^ 

1 own an interest in that good ship, 

And I love to witness its start; 
So I watch it make each separate trip, 

Guided on by a loving heart. 

For the Rock-a-bye ship is mother's arms, 
The passengers our babies dear; 

They stop not to think of nocturnal harms, 
Nor the bogie-man do they fear. 

May time pass lightly over that good ship, 

And the years on it softly lie, 
And kind heaven grant, as it makes each trip 

May I always be watching nigh. 

SPIRIT OF NIGHT. 

Speed swiftly on thy wiiigs of balm. 

Spirit of night ! 
Bring with thee quietness to calm 

The world's fierce fight. 

Bring with thee from the moaning sea. 

On breezes strong, 
That dithyramb of woe and glee — 

The naiads' song. 

Bring with thee from the south 's green shades 

Some fragrance fair, 
x-Vnd freshen all our northern glades 

With warmer air. 

58 



RUGGED RHYMES 

Bring slumber to the weary hearts 

That toil all day, 
Within the city's restless marts, 

For meagre pay. 

To tired souls bring hope and gain, 

And quiet peace; 
To sufferers bring, from all their pain, 

A sweet release. 

Bring love unto the hearts of men, 

And hate of wrong. 
And thy great joy the poet's pen 

Will praise in song. 

To her I love bring heart's repose, 

And ecstasy. 
And in her peaceful sleep disclose 

Sweet dreams of me. 



^> 



THE WINTER MOON. 

Cold-pure, with argent light the winter moon 
Sails o'er the silvered tops of snow-crowned hills, 
And glints the glassy face of frozen streams ; 
Her pale effulgence fills the bare-limbed woods, 
And on the world as soft and lightly lies 
As a mother's kiss upon her sleeping babe. 

59 



RUGGED RHYMES 

A REVERIE OF LOVE. 

Can you forget that fateful night — that lustrous 

night in June? 
The earth lay soft and silvered with our thought 

all was atune; 
For on the air in balmy waves the scent of roses 

sweet, 
Came as the perfumed breath of love with 

ecstasy replete ; " 

And on the breezes laden with that odorous de- 
light, 
Rose the softly whispered murmurs, the voices 

of the night. 
They my heart stole from its keeping — I fondly 

told to you, 
A story oh, so olden but a tale yet ever new. 

The moonlight rested on you and your wealth 
of waving hair, 

Was a sheen of silken glory in the light re- 
flected there ; 

Half hid by langorous lashes was the beauty of 
your eyes, 

Imprisoning suggestions of the summer's softened 
skies. 

Your cheeks were tinged with crimson hues the 
rose could scarce eclipse, 

And parted buds of blissfulness seemed the 
sweetness of your lips. 
60 



RUGGED RHYMES 

Tender raptures were revealed as your bosom 

rose and fell, 
And your voice came like the music of a liquid 

sounding bell. 

Love touched the springs of eloquence, my fervid 

speech o'erflov^ed 
The very boundaries of my soul, a tribute it had 

owed 
To charms like yours which soon were clasped 

within my close embrace, 
As my heart bathed in the glory and the beauty 

of your face. 
My lips touched yours in one long thrill, earth 

faded from my sight. 
And you and I seemed starlings on the bosom of 

the night. 
The sensuous glow of ecstasy my inmost soul 

had dazed — 
And dreams Elysian upward sprang as in your 

eyes I gazed. 

And you so fair, so radiant pure, to me you held 

so sweet. 
As with my passioned accents your heart there 

fervent beat; 
We spoke of love — we lived it there in one short 

span of hours, 
A life of immortality 'mid fancy's roseate bowers; 

6i 



RUGGED RHYMES 

And then into my heart there came the joy which 

Keats had sung, 
A vision of the olden time when all the world 

was young; 
Ah, sweet we lived Endymion's love in the argent 

moonlight there, 
Amid the night's soft murmurs and the pure 

rose-burdened air. 

So may we live through all the years, through 

nights of argent bliss, 
So may we live through sunny days made golden 

by a kiss ; 
So may we live when nights are dark and days 

devoid of sun, 
Until within the strand of time our own life's 

sands have run; 
Then when the call for silence comes may we 

together go 
When the roses give their fragrance and ' the 

silver moonbeams glow ; 
And as the argent glory bathes all the world 

in light. 
May our spirits know love's rhapsody as on that 

lustrous night. 



62 



RUGGED RHYMES 

A BOY AZ IZ A BOY. 

I like a boy az iz a boy — not one of them air kind 

So dressy-like an' delliket — so cultured an' re- 
fined, 

With Fauntleroy hats an' suits an' stringy yal- 
yer curls, 

An' general get-up like ez if they wuz only girls ; 

I like a boy thet's hearty an' not like a great big 
toy; 

I like a boy thet's human-like — a boy az iz a boy. 

I like a boy az iz a boy, who plays leap-frog an' 

tag, 
Whose hank'chief sometimes resembles — well — 

a discolored rag; 
A boy thet splashes in th' pools when summer 

rains come down, 
A boy thet likes t' foller a perseshun 'round th' 

town. 
T like a boy az iz a boy — one who sometimes 

glories 
In tales of bloody piruts an' thrillin' Indian 

stories. 

I like a boy az iz a boy — one thet y' can't mistake, 
A boy thet will occasionally some commandments 

break ; 
I like a boy who's apt sometimes t' dirty shirts 

an' collars, 

63 



RUGGED RHYMES 

Who's got an appetite, too, thet's worth ten 

thousand dollars. 
Tho' sometimes he's a nuisance, he'll finally prove 

a joy; 
I like a boy thet fights, by gosh — a boy az iz a boy. 

I like a boy az iz a boy — a boy who's not a fool, 
Who'd rether go a-fishin' eny day than go t' 

school. 
I like a boy thet climbs up trees, goes gunnin' 

too, fer rats, 
A boy who stones all strayin' dogs, and pelts the 

neighbor's cats; 
Tho' this seems cruel-like, it's only boyish glee, 

by gum. 
Which th' sorrows of th' after years will knock 

t' kingdom come. 

• 
T like a boy az iz a boy, whose hands ain't always 

clean, 
A boy thet's rough but generous, a boy thet isn't 

mean ; • 

A boy who's sometimes sassy, but loves his dad 

an' mother, 
A boy who's alius fight' fer his comrads or his 

1)rother ; 
r like a boy like this t' love — an' sometimes, too, 

t' swat him — 
I like a boy az iz a boy, an' thank God, I hev got him. 

64 



RUGGED RHYMES 

THE QUEEN. 
There's a tiny little monarch who queens it o'er 

my heart, 
And from her throne of sovereignty she will 

ne'er depart; 
She rules her little monarchy with self-assertive 

will, 
And no matter what she dictates we must obey 

her still. 
She's not learned in the wisdom of economic 

rules, 
Yet a knowledge she possesses that's not imbibed 

from schools. 

Her subjects love her tenderly — tenderly she 

loves them ; 
Love is the sceptre that she wields and Love her 

her diadem. 
Her palace is our humble house, her throne a big 

high-chair ; 
And her royal occupation — to banish all our care. 
Her crown is made of golden curls that on her 

temples shine ; 
She sways it with a regal grace o'er mother's 

heart and mine. 

This queen is only three years old yet wiser far 

than we — 
Her royal favors she bestows on mamma and 

on nie. 

65 



RUGGED RHYMES 

Live on, live on, oh mighty queen and rule this 

heart of mine, 
Till on my head the argency of silv'ry locks does 

shine : 
Live on until my life is o'er and from your rule 

I've passed. 
As gracious then as you are now and happy to 

the last. 

-^ 

THE EMBERS' GLOW. 

The winter winds blow lustily, the air is bitter cold, 

The hoary frost lies thick and deep on upland 

and on wold ; 
The bare-limbed trees shrink from the touch of 

winter's icy breath. 
And the babbling brook's sweet music is stilled 

in frozen death ; 
. But safely housed from chill and blast I take 

my easy chair, 
And place it by the hearthside where the fire 

blazes fair; 
So little care I for the gales that 'round my 

dwelling blow. 
As in the twilight gloom I sit, and watch the 

embers' glow. 

The cheerful blaze sends forth a heat that per- 
meates the room ; 

The flickering light half penetrates the fancy 
wak'ning gloom ; 

66 



RUGGED RHYMES 

And the shadows that go dancing on carpet and 

on wall, 
Seem the ghost of vanished pleasures that come 

at memory's call. 
And through the length of years return the days 

of hopeful youth, 
When life was all a golden spell of love, romance 

and truth; 
When the heart was filled with summer dreams 

that knew no wintry woe, 
And faith burned bright within my soul as now 

the embers glow. 

Ah! me, what changes years bring forth — what 

dreams and hopes are killed ; 
What hearts wherein warm love once beamed 

seemed fated to be chilled; 
What havoc's wrought all unforeseen, by that 

dark traitor doubt, 
That drains the springs of human love and draws 

its essence out — 
And leaves the stricken soul fore'er to wither 

and decay, 
In the very fields where there once bloomed the 

flowers of love's May. 
Although my heart beneath such weight has 

bended deep and low, 
Hope's reassurance seems to shine within the 

embers' glow. 

67 



RUGGED RHYMES 

A fairy hand appears to me and points into the 

blaze, 
And brightly there a vision dawns of happy 

youthful days; 
When boyish thought's sweet purity knew not 

the smirch of sin, 
And honor's height — in all the world — seemed 

the only point to win. 
Though conscience tells of unkept vows — of 

duties never done, 
I now repeat old promises, repeat them one by 

one ; 
Come love, and faith, and all the dreams the 

heart of youth did know. 
Revive my drooping soul once more as I watch 

the embers' glow. 



^^^ 



CONTENTMENTS CREED. 

What does it matter if my life be spent 

In humble sphere devoid of wealth and rank, 

Tf so it be that I am well content, 

And yet find heart my fortune still to thank. 

What does it master if at night I sleep 
Beneath no coverlet of silk or lace, 

As long as T my innate manhood keep. 

And sell not honor for a bondman's place. 
68 



RUGGED RHYMES 

What does it matter if at morn I rise 
In no luxurious apartment grand, 

If I do stem the tear in sorrow's eyes 

And to my fellow man give friendship's 
hand. 

What does it matter that if when I dine 

My small repast consists of frugal fare — • 

I do not sigh as long as health is mine, 

And song ha?; power to ease my heart of care. 

What does it matter if my mortal form 

In fashion's raiment is not fine arrayed, 

If but my soul is clothed against the storm 
Of prejudice — and views hate unafraid. 

What does it matter if the meed of fame 

Does not reward me for my life's poor task ; 

If loving lips with kindness speak my name, 
It is enough — no more I would nor ask. 

What does it matter that if when I've died- 

No creed's vain pageantry bedecks my bier ; 

If e'er in life to do the best I've tried, 

To God I leave the rest — I have no fear. 



69 



RUGGED RHYMES 
MY CIGAR, 

I watch the smoke from my cigar, 
And think how little riches are ; 
How small is rank — how empty fame, 
How little worth is fortune's game ; 
For better far than all of these, 
Is rich contentment that doth please 
The heart of man as weary care 
He helps his stricken brother share. 
More precious than the richest pearl. 
Are tender thoughts that come, when curl 
The smoke wreaths in the ether far, 
Like incense from my mild cigar. 

Soft rings of perfume float on high. 
And thoughts of trouble pass me by. 
At ease with man — all strife at rest — 
I feel, within my quiet breast 
Forgiveness for all who may 
Have wronged me — and I pray 
For pardon for all wrongs I've wrought; 
And for the pain I may have brought 
To other hearts unthinkingly ; 
I dream a sweet philosophy. 
Which no grim burdens ever mar, 
As I watch the smoke from my cigar. 

I have not been false fortune's slave, 
And have not managed wealth to save ; 
But fate's been kind — I thank my God, 
For quietly my feet have trod 

70 



RUGGED RHYMES 

The paths of peace, long after years 
That had their share of griefs and tears. 
Up with the smoke all cares now go, 
And naught but happiness I know ; 
The joys of happy home are mine, 
And for them fortune I resign ; 
Love's bright light shines like a star, 
Amid the smoke from my cigar. 

^> 

THE POETS AWAKENING. 

A mystic thought crept through his mind. 
Illusive, vague and undefined ; 
Like something in a mirror glassed, 
Its semblance faded as it passed; 
Yet, ere it faded, on him grew, 
A sense of all that's fair and true. 
In story, song and legend old 
Of sunny climes and ages gold. 
Some magic whisper then he caught. 
Of tender nature's inmost thought ; 
Of Pan-like tunings on the pipe, 
And mellow fruitage falling ripe 
From those ancestral trees of song, 
That to the olden time belong. 
Then sweetest music filled his soul, 
And held him bound in soft control, 
A subtle something through him crept. 
And woke a chord that erst had slept ; 
He woke — from earthly bonds set free. 
He woke — to love and poesy. 

71 



RUGGED RHYMES 

THE WORLD'S SONG. 
Unto their mates the birds all sweetly sing, 

The breezes sing unto the waving trees, 
And songs are sung to beach and coral strand, 

By Arctic oceans and by tropic seas; 
The mother sings unto her blinking babe, 

The Maiden sings unto her lover true, 
The poet sings unto the world his lay 

Embracing all beneath the heavens blue. 
To one grand song the universe is tuned, 

The Master Hand has touched the living 
strings. 
No discord but in man's dark sin and hate — 

The one false note in the song that Nature 

sings. 

^> 

HARVEST DAYS. 
Soft clouds of fleecy whiteness 'cross the heavens 

leave their trail; 
In the meadow cries the plover, in marsh reeds 

pipes the quail ; 
The cattle browse contented through the fields 

of waving grass — 
They scent the clover's perfume as refreshing 

breezes pass. 
The trees with laden branches are all bending 

to the earth, 
To kiss the breast of Nature where their bounty 

had its birth. 

72 



RUGGED RHYMES 

The tasselled corn has ripened 'neath the sun's 
bright golden rays, 

And sweeps of russet glory tell the tale of har- 
vest days. 

The birds sing sweet thanksgiving from the 

depths of leafy shades, 
And hymns of praise are rippling from the brooks 

within the glades; 
Man's prayers are high ascending to the throne 

of Good and Grace, 
As he views the boundless beauties now spread 

o'er Nature's face. 
The morns are full of rapture — the evenings cool 

and still — 
A thrilling gush of music comes from woodland 

and from hill ; 
The twilight fills the valleys with a softened 

mellowed haze, 
The joy of life teems through the heart in 

hallowed harvest days. 

The crops have all been gathered and the hay is 

drying fast. 
Earth's face is sweetly smiling — Summer's heat 

and drouth are past ; 
The seeds sown in the Springtime by the farmer's 

careful hand, 
Have ripened' to nutrition that shall nourish all 

the land ; 

7?^ 



RUGGED RHYMES 

We may take a striking lesson from Nature's 

ample plan, 
In the good she exercises for benefit of man ; 
We should sow the seeds of goodness in life's 

divergent ways, 
And reap a crop of comfort in our easy harvest 

days. 



SHADOWS ON THE WALL. 

After tea all the children come 

Clustering 'round my knee ; 
To play some game they all do beg 

Persistently of me. 
Then there's a caper that I cut 

Which greatly pleases all — 
'Tis when I try to quaintly throw 

Grim shadows on the wall. 



Indian heads and pussy cats, 

And birds that do not sing ; 
Butterflies big, rabbits small. 

And eagles dark of wings ; 
Little ponies and goats that butt, 

And roosters straight and tall^ 
A menagerie starts up when I 

Throw shadows on the wall. 
74 



RUGGED RHYMES 

Dogs minus tails, and donkeys, too. 

Elephants small but weird; 
Quaint swans and geese, sheep with no legs, 

And a man with a bushy beard. 
Then little baby laughs in glee, 

And jumps to catch them all, 
But they evade his tiny clutch. 

These shadows on the wall. 



Thus we children of larger growth 

Clutch at power, wealth and fame. 
And seek to gain the prizes in 

Life's ever fickle game ; 
The fleeting shades of our desires 

In varied phases fall. 
Intangible and vague — they prove 

But shadows on the wall. 



Oh, baby dear, I hope that when 

You grow to man's estate. 
That fortune will be kind to you 

And bright will be your fate ; 
That your aspirations, aims and dreams 

And hopes, both great and small. 
May not elude your clasp as did 

The shadows on the wall. 
75 



RUGGED RHYMES 

THE DEAD DAY. 
In the west the day is fading, 

And the gUnt of sunbeams fine, 
With a quaint, fantastic shading. 

Paints each tree and bush and vine. 

In the dell the darkness thickens 

And the birds are hushed and still, 

While the cricket's chirrup quickens 
Lazy memory with a thrill. 

Now fades the iridescent glory 
Of the purple, blue and red. 

And deep silence tells the story 
That the day at last is dead. 

Serene and still the day's departed, 

In the quietness of peace, 
Now the weak and weary-hearted. 

From their troubles feel release. 

Now the flowers low are bending 

In the cool and wavering breeze. 

While the evening wind is sending 

Mystic murmurs through the trees. 

In the sun the lake no longer 
Sparkles with a fitful gleam, 

Amid these scenes my heart grows stronger, 
And my soul begins to dream. 

76 



RUGGED RHYMES 

Here let me sit while twilight's folded 

In the restful arms of night; 
Here let the rising thoughts be molded 

That shall sing of truth and right. 

As this Summer day has ended 

In a haze of ruddy gold, 
So, when my weary way is wended 

And my heart is growing cold. 

Let me fade as each bright ray does; 

Let my soul with the light depart; 
Let me die as each fair day does, 

In the twilight of the heart. 

THE CLOCK. 
Oh ! warning monitor of passing hours, 

Who heeds the message there upon thy face I 
Where rushing minutes e'er their passage 
trace 
To oblivion's abysm, where flowers 
That bloomed within our youth's bright verdant 
bowers 
Are faded into nothingness. Where grace 
Of life and love and fame are as the chase 
Of lightning flashes in the cloud that lowers. 
Thy hands move on relentlessly and point 

To one Dark Day the future holds for me ; 
Which though my years by holy and anoint. 

Holds yet its terror and sore misery; 
When Faith and Hope shall need in essence joint, 
Help this poor soul to face Eternity. 
77 



RUGGED RHYMES 

THE LEGEND OF THE ROSE. 
The legend runs that long ago, 
The rose was colored like the snow ; 
Once Venus saw this flower white, 
And watched it grow in beauty dight — 
She marked its bloom as it was born, 
And watered it on every morn : 
As she once passed a jealous thorn 
Pricked her white foot which sorely bled — 
And on the rose a drop fell red. 
And o'er the petals quickly sped : 
As soon as her sharp cry had hushed 
She saw the rose in crimson flushed : 
And though this happened in ancient days, 
Upon the rose the red still stays. 



^:> 



SIMILITUDE. 

I saw a bright star shining in the sky ; 

I looked again and it was lost among 

The countless others ; but it was there I know. 

Lending its lustre to the brilliant sky. 



I knew a good man in this world of ours. 
And though unknown, unseen amid the throng, 
He made lives happy, and did all men good. 
And shed the grace of charity around. 

78 



RUGGED RHYMES 

THE ANSWER OF THE SOUE. 
soul and I together sat alone 
At midnight's hour so still and chilly dark, 
And I said unto my soul, "When thy spark 
Forsakes this weakened frame, its earthly throne. 
And starts its voyage through the great un- 
known, 
Leaving this body pale and cold and stark, 
For sorrowing children, wife and friends 
to mark 
With eyes grief-laden and with troubled nioan, 
Shall I yet know of those I held most dear. 
As past great worlds my soaring spirit tiies? 
Shall I be able to dispel their fear. 

From Shadow-land beyond the distant skies. 
Can I yet aid them as they through darkness 

grope ? 
My soul but one word whispered : it was "Hope." 

IF WE KNEW. 

In the morn of our years could we waken, 
To the pitiless, sad sequence of life. 

Flow the hearts in our breasts would be shaken 
At the dread premonition of strife. 

But it seems as if fate in its kindness. 

Had withheld the dark knowledge of fears ; 

So in the measureless depths of our blindness 
We stand undaunted in face of the years. 

79 



RUGGED RHYMES 

AT TWILIGHT. 

A long thin strip of crimson in the west; 

Far-lying clouds, rose-tinted, hugely quaint, 

With ruddy softness that no brush can paint, 
Outlining the whiteness of their snowy crest. 
Returning birds, home-winging to their nest. 

Outvoicing all their nature's unrestraint; 

Odors that on the ether seem to faint 
Like love-lorn roses on a maiden's breast. 

The creeping dusk with dawning moonbeams 
rent. 
Fills all the world with soft and hallowed 
peace ; 
And faintly far, with salt sea breezes blent. 

The sailor's song tells of his toil's release : 
The waves break on the shores with force well- 
spent, 
■ And sound the dirge-note of the day's de- 
cease. 

HOPE. 

Like the pure breath of new-born spring, sweet 

hope 
Refreshes all the soul, and in the heart 
Implants the strong resolves that lead us on 
To greater and more lofty purposes. 

80 



RUGGED RHYMES 
LOVE, 

Love lingers longest in the saddest heart, 

As soft reproach unto its bitter grief ; 

With purest touch it brings a sweet relief, 
And takes the sting from keen misfortune's dart, 
Soothing with its grace the saddening smart 

That rankles sore when all the soul's belief 

Is swept away, and hope itself is brief; 
When new-born bliss and old-time joys depart. 

Love the sweet fragrance of a maiden's 
dream, 

With languid odor wraps her inmost 
thought ; 
And lustres life with ethereal beam, 

From some bright spiritual essence caught. 
With quiet tyranny it rules the soul, 
And o'er the heartstrings holds supreme control. 

BEAUTY. 
The phantom shape that haunts the poet's dreams. 
And lures him wide of men on moonlit 

nights, 
Easing all his soul with murmurs of delights 
In leafy shades by joyous sylvan streams. 

The splendor hiding in the sunset's gleams. 

So grand that the impassioned painter sights 
The unguessed glories of Elysian heights. 

More lustrous yet than e'en his vision deems. 

8i 



RUGGED RHYMES 



The subtle essence of a maiden's thought, 

What time that spring still blossoms in the 
heart ; 

The joys of nature that the senses feel, 

When with pure purposes our life is fraught. 

The great resolves that in brave bosoms start. 
When hope fades sadly with the lost ideal. 



-^^ 



WOMEN. 

The tragedy of life is theirs, 

Its many trials and its cares. 
The childish griefs — the youthful woes 

The tender soul of woman knows ; 
Their own keen suffering — others' smarts 

They carry in their aching hearts ; 
Man's weary burden woman shares, 

Ah, yes, the tragedy of life is theirs. 



Nature's recompense is theirs 

For all the trouble each one bears. 
The lisping "Mother" in childish tones. 

This the bliss that woman owns. 
Man's strong love and childrens' too, 

The heartsease twined among the rue, 
The peace of God as relief from cares. 

And so, the joy of life is theirs. 
82 



RUGGED RHYMES 

THE BIRTH OF SONG. 

A shepherd boy out in the hills at night; 

The bright stars twinkling in the summer sky; 

The hum of insects and the fragrant air; 

Lull care to rest, and thought dawns in the mind. 

A reed is rudely fashioned, and on the night 

There Hoat the witching notes that tell the world 

That song is born. 



''Cy 



ON THE CORNER. 

Alone and silently I stand 

On the corner. 
And watch the ever varying band 
Go by with swiftly hurrying feet; 
The miser old, the maiden sweet. 
Men who for wealth or fame complete, 
I see them all from my retreat 

On the corner. 

The scarlet woman — the fair pure girl. 
Side by side in the city's whirl ; 
The noble — mean — the rich — the poor— 
The great — the myriad obscure — 
The little ones, whose childish talk 
I bless, as merrily they walk 
Past the corner. 
^3 



RUGGED RHYMES 

The wealthy merchant, his humble clerks, 
The lowly tramp who ever shirks 
The daily tasks that others do; 
The dreaming poet who doth pursue 
E'en within the city's strife, 
The visions that enlarge his life. 
Some faces radiant with glee, 
Some faces tinged with woe I See 
Pass the corner. 

How many men now hurrying by 
Will never see to-morrow's sky ; 
How many hearts now beating fast 
Shall ere the morrow beat their last ; 
How many feet will ne'er go past 
Again — that corner? 

1 fere comes a bright and happy youth. 
With face illumed by beaming truth. 
With heart so full of golden dreams 
And life of promise — it scarcely seems 
That life could end — yet he 
Will never again pass me, 

On the corner. 

So it is I take my stand 

On the corner. 
And watch this mortal struggling band 
Hurry on with bated breath. 
Some to hope and some to death. 

84 



RUGGED RHYMES 

And in this simple task I find 
Meet occupation for the mind ; 
A deep and wise philosophy 
Is daily opened unto me, 

On the corner. 

THE NEW AND OLD. 

Who is it joins a suffrage club, 
And clatters round with great hubbub? 
Who prates upon the marriage state, 
And dwells on mighty problems great? 
Who talks of Huxley, Spencer, Kant, 
And teaches sister, cousin, aunt. 
The reason why that they should vote, 
And many learned books can quote? 
Who lectures, reasons, argues, fights, 
For her own and all her sister's rights? 
Who writes in French and thinks in Greek 
And several languages can speak? 
Who advocates the Malthus plan 
For the non-continuance of man ; 
Who baits her husband till he swears. 
Nor mends the clothing that he tears? 
Why the smart New Woman ! 

Who starts the early morning fire, 
y\nd gets the coffee we desire ; 
Who fries our eggs and broils our steak, 
And gingham wears just for love's sake; 

85 



RUGGED RHYMES 

Who sews our shirts and mends our clothes, 
And darns the rents within our hose ; 
Who bakes us bread and makes us pies, 
Who warms our sHppers, buys our ties, 
Who makes us fathers and who shares 
Our lot of trials, troubles, cares? 
Who only speaks her mother tongue, 
But sings the sweetest songs e'er sung; 
Who nurses us when we are ill, 
Then helps us pay the doctor's bill? 
Who is our best and greatest joy, 
Who calls us still her ''good old boy?" 
Why the dear Old Woman. 

BETTER. 
Better to die in the sweet fruition. 

Of competence, peace and loyal love. 
Than to live to see the parturition 

Of unending hate and the grief thereof. 

Better to die with the heartfelt yearning 

For the golden promise of hope and truth. 

Than feel the heart in the breast cold-turning, 
And to watch the death of the dreams of 
youth. 

Better to die in the full assurance 

Of some slight degree of eternal fame. 

Than to live a life of long endurance. 

Outlasting hope — surviving a great name. 
86 



RUGGED RHYMES 



GONE BEFORE. 
Long years we loved and love still seemed no less, 
But stronger, firmer grew with each new 

day. 
Some sunshine ever in our pathway lay, 
And there were days of keen and deep distress, 
When we knew care, and felt misfortunes press — 
Dark days, scarce lighted by a single ray. 
But that our love grew colder none could 
say, 
Or that we e'er forgot the old-time sweet caress. 

And when she faded as a flower fades 
That lives a summer and then droops and dies. 
When her bright spirit joined those angel 
shades 
That throng the mystic regions of the skies, 

My heart was solaced that on heaven's fair 

sea. 
Beyond the grave, love floats eternally. 



87 



RUGGED RHYMES 



IF YOU WERE NEAR. 
If I were dying, love, and you were near, 

Death then would lose half of his terrors 
grim; ^ 

Yea, methinks, I could almost joke with him, 
And greet him with a smile unknown to fear ; 
If by my side there stood thy presence dear; 

Nor at yawning hell's dread chasm would I 
tarry, 

Nor hesitate to let old Charon carry 
Me across that dark lake. If you were near 

The desert of misfortune I could traverse, 
Could meet dull care and sorrows in the face. 

And battle with despair and what is worse 
The sadness and the stigma of disgrace; 

The bitterness of malice and hate's leer 

I could endure — if you were only near. 



88 



RUGGED RHYMES 

ENVY. 
Men cavil that the meed of praise I've won, 

Nor pause to ask if I have won it fair; 
Jf for some thought or word or action done, 

I may some tribute, as a laurel wear. 

I e'er I've wrought to help niy fellow man, 

Or said or wrote some words to ease his 
stress. 
Why should malevolent envy's ban, 

Be laid on me in such unkindliness. 

I can but say in mine own weak defence, 

I have but followed ni)- own beacon true ; 

I seek not fame or fortune's recompence 

But walk the paths inclination leads me to. 

This my nature— and if some help I give, 
To those less fortunate or gifted less. 

Why in my soul, I'm happy that I live, 

And consign dark Envy to forgetfulness. 

As for my talents, I designed them not, 
— Unto the envious I make this plea— 

My will or wish increased not one a jot. 

They are God's work — though they were 
born in me. 

So Envy's sneering, dull nialicious glance, 

That seeks to find my feet within the sod. 

Is not to me a penetrating lance. 

But insult to our common, gracious God. 
89 



RUGGED RHYMES 

IV HEN BABY SLEEPS. I 

When baby sleeps, 
Silence reigns thro' all th' house ; 
I go around jes' like a mouse, 
Er walk about jes' like a cat, 
An' try to do this thing an' that. 
But somehow my soft an' hushened tread 
Will always lead me t' th' bed. 

Where baby sleeps. 

When baby sleeps 
Th' hull place is very quiet. 
An' mebbe that's th' reason why it 
Seems like my baby's here no more, 
But's left us fer th' golden shore, 
Where she first kem from in th' skies ; 
Then th' big tear drops fill my eyes. 

When baby sleeps. 

When baby sleeps 
I watch and watch her while I sit, 
An' wait fer her t' stir a bit ; 
An' then I take her in my arms, 
T' kinder keep away all harms ; 
But I can't cos there'll be 
Troubles in life she can't well flee, ^ 

An' dangers everywhere aboun' ;, J 

So, please God, jes' have an eye aroun' 

When baby sleeps. 
90 




RUGGED RHYMRS 



AS TWILIGHT FALLS. 
The night wind murmurs thro the trees, 
The grass waves gently in the breeze. 
The birds' sweet song is hushed and still, 
And softer flows the ripplying rill, 
As twilight falls. 

Faint shadows o'er the river glide, 
The insect hum fills meadows wide; 
The tired swains all homeward hie. 
When softened glory floods the sky, 
As twilight falls. 

When on the earth night's hand is laid 
The cares of life grow dim and fade. 
The stormy paths that men have trod 
Are quiet with the peace of God, 
As twilight falls. 



91 



JUN 8 1905. 



